It is another thing to wake up in another light:
Bluish, unbelievable, where the faintest thought colludes,
Giving way to mysterious winds.

In such a world, never let go
Of your silence, only yours eyes
Can keep you from this trained magic.

Have faith in the music beyond
Its realness, there’s much more
Even its dead cities can only imagine.

Listen to the language of your fever,
Hold on to your voice that has no beginning.

Copyright (C) 2008, Edwin M. Cordevilla